[Warning: some language]
Water vapor drifts through the room, accompanied by a hissing sound, and low cursing. In every direction sit shelves, littered with bottles, flasks, and tubes. The entire room is in a state that would make any organized librarian feint with horror.
The mess must make sense to someone, though, as an experiment is obviously in progress--in fact is not the only one--and the lab must have been in this condition for many years.
The muttering stops. The hissing sound grows louder, then a clatter and the sound of shattering glass. The mutterer screams out a string of words his mother would not approve of. A crunching sound implies that he is moving around, perhaps to clean up the mess. Though from the state of the room, that last seems unlikely at best.
Finally the vapor clears enough for the mutterer to come into view. He is definitely not the archetypal scientist type. A lab coat lies on a chair nearby, but does not cloak his body as he runs his experiments. He is not the white-hair-that-sticks-out kind of scientist, nor is he the "geek" with glasses.
In fact, if you met him on the street, or in a grocery store, or even in his own laboratory, you would probably not recognize him as a scientist. Student, maybe. Janitor... maybe. Scientist? Well, maybe, but not the crazy type.
So much for first impressions.
A liquid on the floor seeps through the concrete underneath the scientist's feet, despite the fact that nothing (supposedly) seeps through concrete. Smoke rises up from the liquid as it disappears... or is it water vapor?
The scientist ignores the chemical under his feet (socked, not shoed) and grabs two flasks from the shelf nearest him as he mixes more chemicals.
If an observer didn't know better, he would think the scientist has a deadline.
And the observer would be correct. The mutterer has a deadline. A deadline that he hopes his... employer... will forget... or at least be late to observe. A deadline in ten seconds.
Nine.
The scientist pours more liquid, green, into a test tube and holds it over a flame.
Eight. Seven. Six.
The test tube begins to glow orange. The liquid inside is still green. The scientist pulls the tube off the fire, and plunges it into ice-cold water at his right hand.
Five. Four. Three.
The test tube glows purple. Inside, the liquid is blue. The scientist pours its contents into the sink. With the test tube still firmly clasped in his test-tube holder, he pours in another liquid... or something... that looks more like oatmeal than anything else.
Two.
A puff of smoke rises from the tube. The scientist almost immediately pours the oatmeal stuff--now looking like corn mush undercooked--into a third flask.
One.
The scientist moves the flask around to the oven behind him.
Zero.
The door crashes open. The scientist jumps, then shouts desperately as his concoction falls to the floor and crashes... right on top of the glass of the last flask he'd broken.
He would curse, but that wouldn't be a good idea. After all, if your employer walked in the room, and was mad, and expected you to have finished something, and was known to be none-too-forgiving, would you start cussing him out?
Neither would the scientist. And he doesn't. Not that it matters. He missed a deadline, and that means trouble... for him, not his employer.
Big trouble.
The mutterer realizes too late that his pants are wet... and running to the bathroom is out of the question.
"Helmeth?" The deep voice booms out. Hundreds of "Helmeths" echo as the sound bounces back and forth across the walls of the laboratory.
The mutterer winces, then bows deeply. "My lord."
A moment of silence. Then, in anger, the voice speaks again, "Well, where is it?"
Helmeth tries to keep looking at his employer's face, but invariably glances down to the mess at his feet. His employer takes a step forward. Helmeth cringes again. "It is incomplete. My lord."
He feels his bones and muscles freeze. //So cold...// he thinks, barely able to remember what it was like before he was "frozen". Somewhere in the background of what is left of his mind, Helmeth feels his thoughts, his knowledge being drained away. //So cold...//
His face hits the floor. His muscles are released with a suddeness that makes him cry, despite his reputation. The laboratory air seems far too hot; it burns.
Helmeth feels his head being picked up. The rest of his body drags behind, limp, as his employer heaves him up by the hair.
"One day."
Helmeth is dropped to the floor. He sobs and gasps to catch his breath as the bootsteps of his employer recede.
The door slams shut and is locked from the outside.
Helmeth is alone, again. The liquid that he spilled before seeps into his face.
*****
Yesterday, beautiful beings had flown through the skies. Their wings stretched far to from their sides, their immense draconic forms somehow staying afloat in the air, gracefully sweeping back and forth.
Yesterday, people had riden these dragons. Children had played their games of tag, of hide-and-go-seek, and of racing to see who could fly the fastest on their young dragon friends. Families tilled the lands, bringing forth rich fruits for themselves.
Yesterday, they had been happy. No troubles. No worries. They lived in an existance sealed off from the greater Nexus. A small world with no problems.
That was yesterday.
Today... Today, they are gone. Not dead. Just gone. Simple. Except for a few old dragons, at least, whose bodies lie peacefully on the dead grass.
The plague has come. And it will not stop here.
*****
The only sounds in the laboratory are the ticking clock on the wall above the locked door and the snoring of the scientist on the floor. The hands move. Around and around....
Helmeth snorts in his sleep. His eyes pop open as he returns to consciousness. "Wha..." He shakes his head and tries to stand up. His foot comes up underneath him to support his weight, but instead it slips, dropping Helmeth back onto the glass-strewn floor.
He groans.
Helmeth waits a moment before trying again. This time, he coordinates his efforts very carefully, and manages to get on his feet this time.
The table is as he left it, except the flame has gone out, and the oven is turned off. The floor is dry and no trace of the liquid remains. The glass, though, still is there to cut anything that comes into contact.
Helmeth mutters a few more curses and makes his way to the bathroom. Pricks all over his body tell him just where the glass has cut him. His face, especially, feels stretched. //I don't think it's the glass, but...// He shrugs it off. //Probably just the way I slept like that.// He curses. "How much time do I have?" he thinks aloud. The clock, of course, has no voice to answer.
He shuffles into the bathroom and turns on the tap. Cold water splashes out of the faucet onto his bleeding hands. Helmeth gasps at the shock of it, but he gets used to it quickly. Once his hands and arms are clean, he cups his hands and lets the water fill them. As he lifts the water up to his face, he glances up in the mirror.
And the water splashes from his hand back into the sink.
Helmeth reaches a wet hand up to touch the reflection of his gaping face. "Yes..." he whispers. His reflection whispers back. "It worked..." A grin creeps across his face.
His face is ten years younger.
Helmeth does not bother to finish cleaning up. There are more important things to do. He returns to the main lab and mixes together the chemicals, not touching the older solutions he had made. //Might as well make it fresh. Besides, now that I know what I'm doing... finally...// He stops thinking to himself as he gets to work.
Several hours later, his tongue still peeking out from between his teeth, Helmeth finally stands up to stretch his aching back. A large flask, holding three qwezons of the liquid (a qwezon is just under a liter), sits on the table in front of him. Finished.
Helmeth glances at the clock. Three hours left. He made it. A grin stretches across his face, but before he lets his joy spread too far, Helmeth walks to the other end of the humid lab. A table with wires, tubes, and medical equipement gathered from several dozen different cultures and levels of technology greet him.
He spends the next three hours testing himself, and most especially his face, for adverse side-effects. Wouldn't want his employer angry that he had missed something, after all.
The door slams open as Helmeth is returning the cardiometer to its place on the shelf. He almost drops it, catches it in time, and places it on the desk.
He turns to face his employer, and bows. He waits, bowed. Silence greets him. His back starts to ache after all the abuse it has received, and he feels tingling, as if a million bugs were crawling up his spine. He shivers.
"Where is it?"
Helmeth rises and walks to his table. "Here. It is finished." He picks up the flask, gasping at its extreme cold, but not daring to put it down now.
His employer walks into the room, approaches Helmeth. His emmense frame shadows the scientist in darkness.
Helmeth bows again, presenting the flask in his hands before him. //Please please....// The cold of the heavy flask burns into his palms. //Please take it... please....// He murmurs, "Use it by spreading on the skin. No side-effects. At least, not this early."
The employer watches Helmeth struggle to maintain balance with his aching back and heavy burden. "You are late."
Helmeth's muscles tighten. Two other men, both almost as large as the employer, and each with muscles to match their size, enter the room. The flank Helmeth and grasp his arms.
Helmeth thinks idly, his brain struggling to catch up, //Thank God they took the weight...//
The flask is lifted from his arms. "You are late, Helmeth. If this works, you might live." The empoyer turns.
//Oh, shit!//
One of the men hits Helmeth on his head, hard.
*****
Bits of fog float through the streets on the humid evening. The sun has set already. A single star peeps out through the scattered clouds, but the twelve moons are all hidden; ten on the other side of the world and two faint moons hidden by the streaming clouds.
The lamps, left-over from the eighteenth-century version of England that phased into Nexus a few centuries ago, flicker, lighting the roads in a musty, orange glow.
Beneath one of these lamps in the heart of Stratford stands a young woman. She wears a long coat to protect herself from the cold, yet the buttons on the front are open, as if the night is warmer than the coat is meant to protect. A dark hood hides her hair and face, and black boots adorn her feet.
Every once in a while, she lifts something white in her hand, a handkerchief, to her face to blow her nose. A small breeze blows back her hood before she can reach up to pull it back, revealing dark hair, probably black, and a red nose.
Marylin sniffs quietly, waiting. She pushes her hood back to let her hair stream out, impatient for something. A couple passes by, deep in some private conversation. Marylin ignores them and watches intently down the road, apparently expecting someone to walk around the corner at the end, next to one of the houses with red brick on the ground floor walls, and white paneling with brown boards on the first floor walls.
Finally, her long wait comes to an end. A man appeares around the corner. His pace quickens as he comes into sight of Marylin, and Marylin stands up straighter, but waits.
He reaches her, and they hug for a long, long moment, then kiss briefly. "Where were you? I was worried, I mean...." Marylin began.
Arthur shrugs. "I was... detained. Sort of. I mean, They didn't like something, so they held me for a little." His explaination, brief and undescriptive as it is, obviously does not satisfy Marylin. "I'm ok now, just a little late, that's all." He winces at one of the words he'd inadvertantly spoken.
Marylin nods. "Ok. How long can you stay?"
Arthur sighs, heavily. "An hour."
"What?!"
"I know, I know. But I want to make sure I'm back before they get suspcious. I'm not supposed to be here, you know."
"Yeah." She lifts a hand to push back his hood, then run it through his hair. "Yes, I know. Thanks for coming."
He answers with another kiss.
*****
Helmeth inserts his ID key into the slot and waits for it to finish processing. When it finishes, it flashes a red light before opening the door. // Great, wonder what they want _this_ time?// He steps into his lab.
The air is much less humid than before, since experiments have not been running in here for several days. The work table has been cleared off, erasing all evidence of the last experiment Helmeth completed. Once he invents a potion, machines can make as much of it as his employer wants, so there is no reason for clutter from past experiments to get in Helmeth's way. At least, that's what Helmeth guesses his employer thinks. After all, the entire lab is a wreck, a collection of past experiments, because everything he has already done helps him with the next experiment.
Speaking of the next experiment....
On the (clean) table sits an envelope. Sealed with blue wax. Helmeth groans. // Great, just what I need.// He breaks the seal and reads. The edge of the paper flutters in the movement of the air.
Helmeth puts down the paper and proceeds to the bathroom. He leans over the sink and stares at his face in the mirror. He puts a finger near his ear and pushes. A thin film pops up. Helmeth takes hold of the film and pulls. His face stretches and contorts into ugly shapes.
But the shapes aren't half as ugly as what is beneath the mask.
Bruises, scratches, and gashes decorate Helmeth's face. His lip is swollen to nearly twice its normal size; Helmeth gasps with relief as the mask is removed and allows his lip to return to its swollen size. His left eye is surrounded by black and purple skin, and the eye itself is bloodshot.
// Where's a youth potion when I need it?// He curses to himself as he takes salve and tenderly applies it all over his face. // Why did I make it, when I can't even use it myself?// He slams the cap back on the salve bottle and tosses it into the cabinet.
As he turns to leave, he glances at his reflection once again. A monster peers back. // Well, at least Marylin didn't have to see me like _this_// Arthur makes a face at himself before returning to the main lab, and to his next task.
*****
A distinct smell of alcohol perfumes the air. The clink of glasses and loud murmur of conversations, both private and public, fill the bar. Three different technologies of television (a three-D televid, a holoport, and a television reminiscent of Earth) showed three different types of sports. Only one would look even vaguely familiar to a person from earth, but only vaguely.
Cheers go up and fists fly as teams score, as someone wins a bet and someone loses, as some drunkards stumble against tables upseting patrons' drinks.
Sitting in one of those barstools is Helmeth.
Something blue with a glow suspiciously like radioactive substance sits in a clear bottle in his hand, half empty. Helmeth rolls his head around to watch disinteretedly at the televisions broadcasting sports. // If only...//
He doesn't bother to finish his thought, but instead lifts up the bottle to swallow a few more mouthfuls of whatever drink it is in his hand. He coughs and rubs his left hand through his hair, standing it up on end again. His clothes are dingy and wet from sweat and spilled alcohol. A few of the bartenders of the opposite sex slap him on the back, or on other places, as they pass, but do no more.
Helmeth doesn't bother to look when they pass. He simply takes another swig. // I wish...//
Someone plops into the barstool next to him. "What's up, buddy?"
Helmeth coughs.
"Hello? Arthur? You remember me, what? You're old pal from high school?" The voice is definitaly drunk. But it knew his name...
Helmeth turns and burps into his face unintentionally, but barely notices when he does. "What?"
The man cocks his head to the side. "Man, you're plastered. What's with you, man? Whatcha doing this to yerself for?" He slaps Helmeth hard on the back, forcing him to cough up a few bubbles of glowing blue alcohol.
Helmeth shrugs and takes another swig. "Dunno."
"You don't know? Man, that ain't it, you're too plastered to do that! I mean, you never used to drink when we went out, what's the matter with you?" He casually orders a drink that looks suspiciously like green blood. "You wanna talk about it?"
"No."
He pauses. "Well, if you ain't gonna talk about it, whatcha doing here? You could just get plastered at home, can't you? Or do ya have a lady now?" He grins and nudges Helmeth. "Always the lady man, you were. Who is she? Tell me. Oh hey, does she got a sister?"
Helmeth gulps down the rest of the drink in the bottle. "Who?"
"Awww, come on, you know! Your gal! Who is she?"
Helmeth grunts.
A loud cheer rises up from the crowd watching the sports broadcast, followed by shouting.
"Hey, whaddaya know, the Blazers are beating the Ethers! Never thought they could play basketpuck."
Helmeth orders another bottle of... whatever that stuff is, pays, and stands up.
"Hey, buddy, where ya goin'? We was just getting to know each other again!"
Helmeth glances down at the man beside him. Then sends his fist through the face. "I remember you. You used to beat me up for fun every day after school." He watches as the man falls to the floor, his hand going up to hold his nose in slow motion. Helmeth shrugs and steps on the man's face on his way out of the bar.
Time to get to work. Maybe now he can put that stomach pump to test, and that radioactivity absorber, and the...
*****
Arthur Helmeth walks back into his lab after a three-hour night. // Dang it, I need more sleep!// he groans to himself inwardly as he bumps his thigh into the examination table. Various bottles and flasks, including the suspicious-looking bottle of blue alcohol, ratttle, liquids swishing inside.
Helmeth grabs his head in pain and stumbles to the bathroom, running into the doorframe on the way. //Damn it!// He bumps against the sink and starts the cold water running. He leans down and stuffs his head under the faucet, and erupts into a fit of cussing.
He pulls back forcibly, giving his head a nasty knock on the faucet, trying to get away from the water. He fumbles desperately with the knobs until he manages to turn off what he had thought was cold water and turn on the real cold water. He stuffs his head under again, and sighs in pleasure.
He stays there for several minutes, until an alarm starts going off, ringing loudly in his left ear. Helmeth jumps. This time he does not notice the new bruise forming on his head as a result of hitting the faucet again. The alarm sounds loudly into his ears, echoing again and again throughout his brain, his mind. Helmeth gasps in the pain and looks around with his foggy vision, looking for a way to turn the thing off.
He stumbles blindly into the lab and hits a switch. The alarm stops. Arthur groans and falls to his knees. // Great, that's the last time I...// he faints dead away.
*click*
Arthur lies still, his head throbbing. He chooses not to move, since somehow he knows the pain will get worse if he does. His mind wanders.
He dimly hears a voice reading out the instructions inside the envelope that had been left for him. He does not recognize it as his own, nor does he care. Chemistry equations float across his mind. He repeats to himself a key phrase over and over until he can almost grasp the concept he must invent in his hand.
Then, ideas come. They drift across his mind, slowly analyzed and thrown away or stored to look at again later. He envisions in his mind eye the combinations of molecules that shouldn't really combine... but could if....
*crunch*
The question--how do you turn life into _life_--circles in his mind. What is life? Alcohol... no, alcohol is only fermentation, the product of low energy production. No good. Lactose, then? No. The ideas swirl around, following no order, no control. Arthur does not attempt to think about it; he just lets his tired, hungover mind handle the work.
Back to life. Lots of life. Plants. Animals. Paramecium. Fungi. And the other one, whatever it is. Turn it into life. Why? No, how. How? What is life? Alcohol? // No, not, alcohol// Helmeth tells himself firmly. // Stop thinking about alcohol.// So... how? What is....
An image appears in his mind, more felt than heard. A pump. Pushing. Pushing.
*clink*
Pushing. What... muscles, contracting. Pushing something. Arthur grasps it, pulls it in. Blood! Blood burned... no good, so don't heat it up. Frozen... just frozen. Nothing there. Capture the essense, capture the life in the blood. How? What about the appearance potion? The one that cures wounds and inconsistancies of the flesh... can that help? But it must be swallowed, not spread on the skin....
*thud*
// That's it!// Arthur sits up suddenly. Images and ideas swirl and combine in his head into ingenious solutions. // Combine amodium sulfate with the potion, evaporate... add the blood...// Helmeth thinks excitedly to himself, headache forgotten. He stands up and hurries to the table, and bumps into someone.
Someone very, very large.
And angry.
That large and angry someone grabs Helmeth around the waist and half carries him, half throws him, out the door. Arthur lands with a sickening crunch in a mess of crushed glass.
He sits up slowly, feeling every prick and cut as the glass bites into him. // What the...// But he has no time for further thoughts. Someone behind him grabs him and throws him back farther before rushing into the room. Helmeth dimly hears something being dragged into the room through his hangover.
"Wha..." He coughs and manages to open his eyes against the pain.
The men are wearing thick coats and gloves, boots, helmets.... Arthur draws in his breath in realization.
// Firemen? What are they doing _here_?// He stumbles to his feet, managing not to trip over the water hose snaking across the hall. Shouts echoed from within the lab.
Helmeth walks into the lab to see the firemen peering into the corners of the lab. One fireman is using a flashlight in an attempt to find something on the ceiling.
"Are you in charge here?"
"Huh?" Helmeth turns at the voice. He sees a fireman, probably the one in charge, accosting him. "This is my lab. What's going on?"
The man bends down to lean his hatchet against the wall, his suit creaking in the process. "We got an alarm call. Do you know anything about a fire in this lab about ten minutes ago?"
Arthur shakes his head as if to clear it, and immediately regrets his action as his headache returns in full force. "No... wait. Yes, I think...." He squints his eyes as he tries to remember. "When I was in the bathroom, washing..." he pauses. "Um, washing something out of my hair..." he unconsciously runs his hand through it, splattering drops across the hall. "...in the sink in the bathroom. I heard something, it startled me, I hit my head. I don't really remember after that; I just woke up."
The man nods. "All right. Can you show me where the alarm is, sir?" He gently leads Helmeth by the arm into the lab. Helmeth glances around, then leads the way to the wall next to the sink. He slides his fingers next to one of the panels, and pops it out. Underneath is a control system for fire alarms, security alarms, etc. in the lab.
The man smiles. "Thank you, sir." With his signal, his men start in the control panel, trying to find the source of the alarm. "So you don't know of any fire in here?"
Arthur shakes his head. "No, sir. Just the alarm going off until I turned it off. No smell or nothing."
After another half an hour of questioning and searching, the firemen finaly leave. Helmeth closes the door and slumps down in his chair.
"Now what?"
He strains to remember the formulas and equations he had just figured out before running into the fireman, but comes to no success. He absentmindedly runs a hand through his hair, accidently running through a wet tangle that tugs on his bruises. Helmeth winces and puts his hand in his lap and stares at it as if it holds his answer.
"What?"
Helmeth starts at the sound of footsteps in the hall. He suddenly remembers, too late, that he does not happen to be the owner of this lab....
The door opens slowly. Helmeth stands up just as slowly, half expecting to be blasted as soon as his employer steps through, if his employer even bothered to come in person.
It is indeed Helmeth's employer that steps through the door. He is very, very tall. His face is younger than it has been; obviously he had taken advantage of Helmeth's earlier invention. His hair is jet black, short, and swept back. His uniform is that of a naval officer, though bodies of water are rare in this part of the Nexus. His face shows no emotion, but then it never does.
"What happened?"
Helmeth blinks in surprise before he bows and thinks of his answer. It isn't often that his employer asks questions out loud like this, and especially not in such a calm manner. "Um... the fire alarm went off, but there was no fire."
"And why did you not cancel the call?" Still that annoyingly calm voice. Helmeth feels a prickling sensation go up and down his arms and back. His muscles tense.
Arthur clears his throat and manages to keep his hand from running through his hair again. "Um, I was washing something out of ... I mean, I had my head under the faucet because of a headache, and when it sounded off, I hit it. I think I went unconscious until just before the firemen got here." He swallows, afraid at how close he had come to lying to his employer.
"And why did you have a ... headache?" The voice emphasises the last word slightly.
Helmeth tries to gulp down the lump that has just appeared in his throat. "I... was very drunk last night, sir."
Helmeth's employer, still no expression on his face, walks casually to the table and picks up the bottle of glowing blue alcohol. "You left this facility without permission." He gently puts the bottle back down on the table. Helmeth's eyes follow the movement as if he cannot look away.
"You know what happens to people who disobey me?" The bottle shatters, though it is not even being touched by Helmeth's employer. At the same moment the blue alcohol splatters over Helmeth's face, the lights in the lab go out, and Helmeth is washed in darkness.
*****
The sun rises slowly, a ruby in the sky. Its long rays reach out to brush past small clouds that fill the sky above. They touch the mists that surround an "island" of land. An island in paradise.
People wake early or late as they please. Some, for whom it is their designated day, walk to the orchards to gather fruit for the people that day. Others bake breads, or hunt small game, for the nightly feast. The children gather at one of the points of the island, beyond which is only mist and shadow. Their instructor for the day, and old man who fell into the island from another place through a portal. A man who shares his experiences of the other world, his words magically coming to life in the mist before the children.
Because of these stories, the people know what it is to be unhappy, and how fortunate they are to live in such a close, friendly world. There are no portals that lead from it, only portals that occasionally drop a person in. No one has attempted to walk through the shadow. No one has ever felt the need; everything they need, from life to food to love to companionship is right here, right where they want to be.
So naturally, they are surprised when a portal opens in the center of the island, in the center of the village. And remains.
People gather about, waiting for the next arrival, not even wondering whether they might be able to leave this island through the portal to another world. They do not wait long.
The portal shimmers, and something comes through.
*****
The sun rises slowly, a ruby in the sky. Its long rays reach out to brush past small clouds that fill the sky above. They touch the mists that surround an "island" of land. An island that is dead.
*****
Bits of fog float through the streets on another humid evening. The sun's first rays have not yet tainted the night sky, and millions of stars and three moons light up the street in the heart of Stratford.
The lamps with their orange, musty glow, do not add much to the light of the moons, but add color and impatience to the cold blue air. Marylin stands in the same long coat, the same dark hood, the same black boots as always. She stands patiently waiting for Arthur to come again.
For an hour, she waits, giving no sign of impatience, no sign of when she expects Arthur to come, only that she is waiting, and praying.
But when Arthur does not come, Marylin begins to fret. She pushes back her hood to allow more air to cool her face and neck. Tiny beads of sweat glisten on her forhead, despite the early morning coolness. She reaches a hand into her pocket to pull out the note Arthur had written last time she's seen him, as if to check and make sure of the date.
She stuffs it back into her pocket and stares again at the corner where Arthur is supposed to come and tries to swallow the lump in her throat. // Where is he? What happened?// She begins to pace, always craning her neck toward that end of the street. She will get a crick in her neck, but she does not care; she wants him to come.
She pauses, wondering whether she should try to go find him. // But where? He never told me...// Tears fill her eyes in desperation and she sniffs, wipes her nose with the back of her hand. She stands up straighter. // I don't want him to see me like this! I'll just... I'll just...//
But her train of thought breaks off as she sees a shadow come around the bend.
It is not Arthur. But as the shadow approaches, it becomes obvious, at least to Marylin, that its destination is her. Marylin swallows again, manages to stop shifting on her feet in impatience, and crosses her fingers. "Hello," she squeeks as the person comes into the light of the lamppost.
The face, hidden by a hood, stares up at her for a moment before pushing it back to reveal a handsome young man. "Are you Marylin? Friend of Arthur Helmeth?"
Marylin crosses her fingers before she remembers she already _has_ her fingers crossed. She swallows this time before speaking. "Yes, I am. What...."
"Follow me." The hunched shape pulls his hood back up and turns around to walk the way it had come.
Marylin pauses in confusion. "But, what about...." The man continues to walk, ignoring Marylin's protest. She makes a quick decision and runs to catch up and follow him, not knowing what is ahead.
*****
The lab already looks very different. A young man... a _very_ young man, works silently, cleaning up the dusty mess left behind by the lab's previous occupant. His lab coat, obviously new and unstained, hangs down to his knees, which are clad in torn jeans, his feet covered by old, dirty sneakers.
Various products of Nexus litter the floor; "Messy Cleaner! Cleans where you won't see!", "Glad--It's what you'll be when you found out you've already used it up!", and "Scrubless! Scrubs what you wouldn't dare touch!" being a few.
The floor and shelves in the section of the lab the young man has already cleaned shine brightly, proving that at least _one_ of those products works the way it should. The man works steadily, never glancing up, always seeming to know exactly where his hands and tools are.
Footsteps echo in the hallway, and a knock sounds out at the door. The young man does not bother to look up when he calls, "Yes, who is it?"
The door opens, and Helmeth's employer steps into the room, as large and intimidating as ever.
The young man finally looks up as he picks up a rag to wipe off his hands. "Yes, sir, what can I do for you?" He smiles politely.
The employer looks him up and down, allowing his new employee to wait for his reply. Finally, he looks the man in the eyes. "Thomas Anders, are you aware of the project assigned to you?"
Thomas nods a sort of bow and replies, "Yes, sir, of course. I am about to start, as soon as I get this place in working order."
The employer's eyes narrow. "You have two days, Mr. Anders. I expect you to finish on time."
Thomas bows again. "Yes sir, I will."
A few minutes later, Thomas is alone in the room. In his new lab.
*****
The room is completely black. In fact, to the observer, it seems as if light must have never existed. How else could a room be so... black? So empty?
The air is still. No sound, no breeze to tickle the hair on one's head or arms. Nothing, but the floor beneath one's feet.
Yet, at the same time, there is the sense that there must be someone in the room. No movement speaks of this person, no sound, no sight; just the inexplicable feeling that there must be _something_ there.
And, of course, the feeling is right. A cough, frighteningly loud in the still, cold air, echoes around the room, revealing its large size, and the feeling that there must be other things in the room; perhaps boxes, or desks, or shelves.
Then, a tiny light appears. Looking, for all it's worth, like a light at the end of a tunnel, like the sweet touch of heaven in the dark confines of confusion, it glows, seeming almost as if it is but an echo of the faint memory of light of long ago.
But it is real. It slowly becomes stronger, and now it is bright enough to barely see the outline of its shape; it looks like an isoseles triangle standing up on end, each of its corners rounded off, and the center glowing more than the edges.
The light begins to move, whisps floating about like clouds. They attract and intrigue the eye, making pretty blue and white patterns across the triangle shape. Occasionally, a whisp escapes the top corner of the triangle to float out and fade away. But before it fades, it lights up, for an instant, a face.
The light in the triangle, now obviously a flask of some sort, suddenly becomes bright enough to make out the general idea of the room around the person, but the person's face is still hidden in shadow. The room is a lab, cluttered with shelves covered in discontinued experiments, broken bottles, and tools of the science trade. It looks almost familiar....
The person lifts up the flask --and the light-- to peer into its contents, and his face finally appears.
Arthur Helmeth.
*****
Marylin sits quietly. The tiny room is dimly lit, with white walls and nothing but two chairs, one occupied by Marylin and the other empty, and a small metal table. The door is on the far side of the room, shut, with no handles. A mirror takes up the wall across from Marylin, looking suspiciously like those windows that look like mirrors on the other side.
The entire room, in fact, looks like one of those interview, or more frighteningly termed, interrogation rooms. Marylin shifts uneasily in her seat, wondering. // What's going on? Where's Arthur?// She has a suspicion that she dares not even think to herself: Did Arthur get into trouble? Did he mess up, and are they going to... use her? To make him do something?
Finally, the door is pushed open. The light is too dim to see clearly who comes in, but there is one person who enters, probably a male from the state of his hair. It is disheveled and messy, looking as if the man hasn't combed it in ages.
Marylin blinked. // Could it be...// "Arthur?" She asks timidly.
The man's head jerks up. "M... Marylin?" He runs the two steps across the room to hold her in his arms. "But, what are you...?"
But he does not finish his sentance. Marylin's tears, held back for hours, come out like a flash flood with no warning. He stops speaking to her and simply holds her close, whispering, "It's all right, Marylin. It's all right." Though he has no doubt that nothing is all right at all, he knows now is not the time to speak of it. He buries his head in her hair, letting her cry, and closes his eyes, praying.
*****
"I bring before you, gentlemen, the product of my labors to achieve this goal. You can see that it is somewhat large and obstructive. I intend to correct this fault in later versions, but for the first invention of this kind, it was necessary to take into account too many measures to effectively reduce the size and bulk of the product. Though it has not yet been tested, it should work when someone adds blood through this tube"... a pause... "and then drinks the resulting liquid that comes out of this tube here a few moments later. For this to work best, the person who drinks the potion should also be the one to add the blood in the first place, though not necessarily his own. There is no limit to the intake of blood this machine can handle, but its other ingredients must be replentished after at least every one hundred potions it produces." Another pause, then clapping.
Another voice cuts in, "Questions after both presentations are finished!" Another pause and murmur, and then it is finally Helmeth's turn.
Arthur pushes a covered cart in ahead of him. On the other side of the stage, the man who just finished his presentation stands, watching. Beside him is a machine twice as tall and three times as wide as the man himself, with lights blinking on and off on its sides.
Arthur smiles and shakes his head. Those college grads think they know everything, don't they. Well, wait 'till he sees this! He stops in the center of the stage and turns to face the audience.
The audience consists of ten people. One of them is Arthur's boss, and in fact, the boss of all the people present. The others are second in command or assistants. And then, there's Marylin. Arthur's smile widens as he sees her, and he tips his head a tad in her direction. She nods back, and he begins his presentation.
"Sirs and madam, I regret to say that I have no machine like my friend's..." here the audience can detect the slightest sneer in his voice "... beside me. Instead, I have a mixture of several chemicals. It is just as, or perhaps even more, affective than Mr. Anders' invention. However, it is best kept under cover until the moment one adds the final ingredient, as its contents are slightly radioactive, and react to sunlight in most realities of Nexus."
Arthur nods to one of the men, and he turns out the lights in the room. Arthur then removes the cover over his cart, revealing twenty bottles of the glowing liquid he had created before. Its glow is so bright, the audience does not even need so squint to see around them, though looking _at_ the light is more difficult. "In order to use this potion, one needs to take it out in the presence of other people..." he picks up one of the bottles "... and remove the stopper of one bottle. It will take care of the rest. In about five minutes, it will be ready for consumption. Are there any questions?" He carefully puts the bottle back down on the tray and covers it back up.
Silence reigns as the audience thinks for a moment on what Helmeth has said. Helmeth's employer walks up onto the stage and turns around. "I believe this must be tested before it can be determined to be of practicality?" He looks each scientist in the eye.
Anders' face turns white, but Helmeth simply stands, waiting, hoping Marylin would not be picked for the experiment.
The empoyer nods to his second-in-command, sitting in the middle aisle.
Anders slowly falls to the ground, as if in slow motion. Helmeth can barely see the tiny red spot growing in the center of his forehead. He is dead before he hits the floor.
Helmeth swallows. Hard.
The employer walks to Anders, the sound of his boots hitting the wooden stage echoing in the small room. He turns the machine halfway around so the front faces Anders. Anders' body lies in a pool of dark red, steadily growing bigger. Then, a stream of blood lifts from the floor and flows into the tube Anders had first pointed out.
Soon, all the blood is gone, and his body is still and white on the floor. The machine whirrs, and something begins to drip out of the other end. The drops, instead of hitting the ground, float instead to Anders' dead mouth. A few minutes later, the machine stops whirring and all is still.
The employer grunts and turns to Helmeth. Arthur stares at him, knowing what will happen, but too afraid to move for fear that it will. They stare at each other, will against dread, the employer milking his opportunity to make Helmeth sweat, Helmeth fervently praying for mercy from somewhere above...
The staredown is interrupted when Anders gasps. Helmeth blinks in surprise, and the employer breaks the eye-contact to turn around and look at the man sprawled on the ground.
Anders' hands grip the floor as he tries to suck in air, then blow it out again, each breath an obvious agony. Slowly, he appears to breath easier, and his eyes open. They roll around, looking about, until his gaze falls upon the employer. He coughs, and lets his eyes fall closed as he falls into a deep sleep.
The empoyer turns back to Helmeth. "Well, then, his worked. You'd better hope yours does too, _Arthur_..." Helmeth flinches and he can hear Marylin gasp, "Hadn't you?"
Helmeth nods, his mouth working but no sound escaping. His employer draws out a bottle from Helmeth's cart, and pulls out the stopper, then lowers the bottle until its mouth is pointed toward Helmeth.
He loses consciousness.
*****
Clarissa pushes the large metal cart through the swinging doors out of the kitchens. A few other nurses wait their turn to collect their meal carts; two Saurians who look decidedly weird in a nurse's white robes, and a Hippotomi who looks very dry and hot out of the water.
She nods to the other nurses and turns left down the hall, continuing at a brisk pace until she reaches the elevators at the West end. She waits for the patient, accompanied by a nurse, of course, to exit before pushing the tray into the elevator and pushing the key to take her to the fourteenth floor. She waits impatiently, tapping her foot, as the elevator motor whirrs, and the door opens again at her destination.
Clarissa gently shoves the cart out of the elevator and follows in its wake past the floor lobby area to the hall she is assigned to today. She stops at the first floor and reads the tablet.
Full Dinner, Leave at Door
Clarissa hums as she sets the plate on the ground outside the door and moves on. Behind her, a team of nurses picks up the plate and opens the door to deliver the meal to a patient with a particularly nasty inhibition disorder.
The next door requires a vegetarian meal, the next a dietary meal, and the next a double meal; apparently the doctor wants the patient to gain weight. Most patients are able to accept their meals when Clarissa knocks, and those that aren't are given their meals by the same team of nurses... when they get through with their last charge.
About halfway down the hall, Clarissa reaches a door with her favorite kind of message; the mystery patient.
New. Full Dinner. Delivery Recommended.
From inside the room come the muffled sounds of someone having nightmares, though in a mental institution chances are that person is awake, not asleep.
Clarissa hums softly and reassuringly to herself, and to the patient inside, as she brings the cart to a full stop, selects a meal, and knocks.
The muffled sounds stop. "Um, come in... I guess...." The voice is male.
Clarissa pats the electric baton she keeps up her sleeve--as a precautionary measure; insane patients aren't exactly stable, and the men sometimes get a little rough on the women nurses--before opening the door. "I have your dinner, sir. Where would you like it?"
The man begins to answer, "Um..."
Clarissa enters to look at him as he speaks to her. His face is very, very white, and his hair extremely dark and messy against his forehead. His clothes and bedclothes are disheveled, and he has a haunted look about him that would frighten Clarissa if she hadn't already seen it in the eyes of most other patients in this institution.
Before she can take in more than this glance, though, the man sees her and begins to scream. He leaps off his bed and hides on the other side, pulling the blankets with him and struggling underneath them as if he is having a sort of fight for his life.
Without hesitation, Clarissa steps back outside and signals for the team of nurses. She leaves the dinner outside the room and moves on, slightly disappointed that the first new patient in the last three weeks can only scream in horror when she walks in the room.
Clarissa makes a last check over the hospital wing before signing out and turning off the main lights. Despite the late hours, she loves closing time the best, partly because she gets to tell bedtime stories to some of the patients (and she happens to be one heck of a story teller) and partly because she has the good feeling of security about her charges when she leaves. Of course the night staff still remains, but the lights are out and the hospital is mostly asleep.
She keys open the elevator (keys are required to open stairs and elevators on any patient floor) and rides down to the floor level. She leaves the elevator, nods a farewell to the night staff and security guards on her way out, and makes her way down the dirt road to the street. All around her are flowering bushes and gardens, kept in prime condition for the patients' comfort and enjoyment. The gardens also help shield the patients from the outside world, making it safer for both sides.
Clarissa stops at the corner of Putric and Maine and signals for a richshaw. She always prefered to walk, but being a woman at night, and most especially going through some of the dangerous realities she had to go through, makes taking a rickshaw home a blessing, not to mention a very good idea.
The driver is a Saurian, appearently looking to make a few extra credits by working at night. Clarissa smiles and states her destination. His price is reasonable without her having to try to bargain (a rarety at night), so she gives him half the money and climbs aboard.
Fifteen minutes later, the rickshaw stops. Clarissa dismounts and pays the remainder of the fee, then takes her bag and marches up the steps, which sit right at the roadside, into the huge, strange-looking apartment complex.
Paint is peeling off the walls, and there is no elevator. Clarissa climbs the stairs to the fifth floor and walks most of the way down the uncarpeted hall to a shabby-looking door, number 598. She opens it, walks in, and closes it behind her, closing her eyes for a moment as if to hide her eyes from the sight that greets her.
The room is almost completely empty. A bed is shoved up against the far wall, and door leads to a tiny bathroom on her right, and another door to a miniscule kitchen on the left. Everything is clean and a few drawings, probably by Clarissa herself, help make the room look nicer, but still it is obviously a poor, shabby room.
She drops her bag just inside the bedroom and lies down on the bed for a moment to rest. Her eys close, and she falls asleep almost before her head hits her thin, flat pillow.
*****
Rainy days in Nexus are not usually boring because there are so many places to go and things to do that all rain does to your day is make it wet. In a mental hospital, though, the patients cannot visit places of Nexus, and many of the patients' friends and relatives have better things to do. They cannot even spend their regular activity hour outside in the grounds because everything is soaked, gray, and cold.
So, as Clarissa makes her rounds to deliver dinners to the patients in hall D, the patients seem uptight and more uncontrollable than usual. Soon, Clarissa nears the room where that new man had screamed at her.
It has been a couple of weeks since she has traversed this hall, but still she approaches the door with caution.
Full Dinner. Supervision required.
Clarissa signals a nurse, happy that she won't be the only person there, though the nurse would stay outside unless something happens.
As she waits, she again hears a voice in the room, sounding as if it were in the middle of a nightmare of some sort. She winces when it gasps, hoping that the young lost mind behind this door can be saved. The nurse joins Clarissa at the door, and Clarissa knocks.
Once again, the noises stop as soon as she knocks. A voice, sounding more hoarse and tired this time, calls out, "Come in."
Clarissa softly pushes the door open and enters slowly, keeping her face down in case it was the fact that she had been looking at him that had started him screaming the last time. But this time he is sitting not on his bed, but at the windowsill, staring out at the rain. His face has a touch of sadness to it, and seems quite calm, though a muscle under his left eye keeps twitching at odd moments.
Clarissa smiles at him, hoping that he will not turn around and scream at her again. "Your dinner, sir. Where would you like it?" Most of the time, patients get a kick out of being called "Sir" or "Ma'am."
The man turns to look at Clarissa full in her face. He does not even blink. "You can put it on the bedside table, please." He turns back to stare out of the window again.
Normally Clarissa would insist that the patients begin eating while she is present, but in this case she is happy that he has not yet screamed at her, and tactfully leaves the room. As she continues down the hall, she smiles to herself, wondering what had happened to that poor man, and whether she could help him.
*****
Mists float slowly about on the cold night. A lonely, solitary moon hangs over the world, looking like a giant tear fallen from the sky. Not a single bird calls, not a single leaf rustles, not a single breeze blows. There is nothing but the giant graveyard.
No one ever visits this graveyard except when someone new is buried. Tonight, there are no new bodies to bury, and not a living thing is here.
But the dead are.
Faint whispers, tendrils of thought, would reach a person's ears if he were standing there, alone, listening hard enough. But then, no one would be standing there. At night. Alone.
Most of the yard is full. Tall monuments, old monuments, plain stones, elaborate stones, all of them litter the grounds, all of them seem to glow with a sort of inner fire, as if tonight the dead will come alive.
Under the ground, flesh is rotting. Muscles crinkling up into hard powder, then decaying away into nothingness. Bones cracking.
But one body... one skeleton... is still in prime condition. If it were alive, that is. Then again, it is difficult to think of a skeleton as being in prime condition without any flesh to speak of. Yet, the fact remains, this skeleton has not rotted or been attacked by worms or anything at all yet, as opposed to the others. But the flesh is gone.
Above the ground, there is no monument. No headstone. No marker. Nothing but fresh dirt. This body has been buried recently, within the last day.
A sort of stench seperate from the normal graveyard smell... if any smell is normal in a graveyard... drifts up from this grave. In the next week, when people come to bury their dead, they will breath this stench.
And they will get ill. And they will die.
*****
"What is your family like?" He still stares out the window, and Clarissa felt overjoyed that he'd opened a conversation with her; she'd been wanting to learn about him. Though, not perhaps in this way....
"Well," she begins, "my parents died a few years ago in a portal accident; the portal closed on them as they were passing through, and of course no one can live in two places at once. I don't have any other family, that I know of." She smiles at her patient, who is still looking away. "But I'd like to have one of my own, sometime. I'd like to have someone to talk to again."
The man simply stares out the window, seemingly having not heard a word of what Clarissa said. After a moment, Clarissa puts his dinner on his bedstand. She begins to turn to go, but stops when she sees him slowly nod his head.
From here, she can see a little of his profile. She tries to remember what his face looked like, and imagines what expression was on it now. Probably none. "Do you have anyone to talk to?" She asks hesitantly, not certain whether he is ready for questions about himself, no matter how general.
Again, he simply sits there, saying nothing. She waits for a time, watching for a nod or a shake of his head. She waits over twice as long as she had waited the time before, but still there is no response.
Finally, she leaves, remembering the other dinners on the tray waiting to be delivered. He does not stop her, but after she leaves, a single tear shines on his left cheek.
Three days later, Clarissa gets a shock when the man (patient 148) suddenly speaks up when she brings his dinner as if she had asked her question only a moment ago.
"I did have someone, but I guess I don't have anyone to talk to now. She's gone." He still stares out the window at the gardens and the patients moving around in them.
Clarissa paused, then took a chance. She sets the dinner down and sits upon the side of his bed to look at him in his chair. "Who was she? Where did she go?"
It is a few minutes before he answers, but this time he answers more quickly than he ever had before. "Her name was Marylin. She..., well, she disappeared." He pauses, then continues. "She used to live next to me, we lived in the same apartment. We almost grew up together. God, she was beautiful." He looks down at his hands folded in his lap, then reaches up as if to wipe off his face.
"But then she disappeared. I don't think she's.... Well, I think she's dead now." He runs his hand through his lengthening hair in agitation. Clarissa sits silent for a moment, somewhat surprised by the sudden dispersal of information. Finally, she whispers, "I know how you feel, a little. When my parents died, all I knew was that they had gone to visit my aunt. But they never got there. The thing was, she didn't know they were going to visit, so no one noticed them missing until they found their pieces... where the portal had been...."
She shakes her head to get rid of the lingering sadness; she is here to comfort people and help them recover, not to dump her own problems on top of their own. "Here's your dinner. Why don't you eat a little more this time. Marylin wouldn't want you to starve yourself to death, would she?" She says this firmly and encouragingly as she stands up and dusts off her hands.
Clarissa stops halfway through the door when he speaks again: "I'm sorry. No one should lose their family like that. At least it wasn't...." But his voice dies away, and he does not speak again.
The next day, Clarissa finds her schedule rearranged. The management has apparently noticed (via video cameras) that not only does she spend more time with patient 148 than normal, but she also seems to have a better effect on him than any of the other nurses around.
Now, another nurse takes care of the general feeding. By the time Clarissa is finished helping the patients through their daily walks, she is exhausted.
But she finds herself still eager for her evening "session" with patient 148. She takes in his dinner, as usual, and sits on his bed to watch him staring out into the fading sunset.
"Aren't you going to eat?" she asks.
She gets no reaction, unsurprisingly. "It isn't that horrible hospital food, this time. I remember how I always felt better when my mother made me some soup, so I made some especially for you. Have a taste." She picks up the bowl of soup and a spoon and carries it over to him.
Now, Clarissa is closer than she has ever been before to this patient. His face is turned down, but somehow she knows he is thinking about the soup, so she patiently stands and waits, her hand growing hot.
Finally, he sighs, turns, and takes the soup from her hands. "Thank you." His voice is dismissive, but something about his whole body movement tells Clarissa that he wants her to stay.
She sits on the edge of his bed again, and grins to herself.
*****
The leaves wave gently with the light breeze, making the dappled sunlight dance on the ground before them. The bench is white, with soft pillows to make it pleasurable. Clarissa reads a Nexus newspaper out loud as patient 148 listens beside her.
"...are pleased to announce the capture of the murderer of over two hundred innocent beings. The trial, being run by The Arrow of Justice, Inc. will begin as soon as the evidence against Mr. Black is gathered and as soon as a competent Jury has been assembled."
She pauses in her reading. "Well, I'm glad they got that man. It's just evil, how he was murdering all those people. Did you know, some of them were from this very asylum? It's very scary, knowing that every person we release is in danger of being murdered." She sighs and turns the page. "Well, we won't have to worry about that anymore, that's for sure!"
"But how do they know he was the murderer?" This seems to be one of patient 148's good days; he is conversing almost like normal.
Clarissa shrugs. "I don't know. It says here that he is the murderer, and I guess they wouldn't say that if it weren't true, right? And Maximum Cop is very good at getting that kind of information." She shudders as the question flits through her mind: //What kind of information do they have about _me_?//
The patient sighs and stares at the ground. By now, Clarissa has already learned how to recognise the signs that he wants some quiet, so she continues to read in silence, keeping an eye and an ear out for her patient.
She has barely started her third article when he says, "My name is Earl Henner."
Clarissa blinks as she tries to catch up with her patient. "Would you like me to call you Mr. Henner, or Earl?"
He smiles passively. "Earl will be fine, I think." He shifts in his seat, and Clarissa stands. She gives him a hand up, then guides him through the gardens back to the main hospital.
*****
Father and son sit side by side on the cart full of bushels of corn. Their old, ragged clothes waves in the breeze as their horse, an old gray, pulls the cart.
"Where are we going, Dad?" It is the boy's first year away from school at harvest.
"We're going to Melville Market. It's a few portals away, and our neighbors don't know about it, so we're practically the only ones who sell corn to them." The older man clucks to the horse to make it trot a little faster.
"Why don't the other farmers know about it?"
"Well, they use other markets. And the portals are very, very hard to find. I only found them by accident."
The boy thinks for a moment, then asks, "Don't they have farms over there too?"
His father nods. "A few, but not many. It's small far away from any other people, so the people can be alone if they want to. But they need corn because they can't grow it themselves. That's why we sell it to them." He glances at his son. "In fact, if you'd like, you can sell our corn to them. After all, you helped harvest it this year."
The boy sat up straighter and a slight flush came into his cheeks. "Really? How?"
The father smiles at the good reaction he is getting. "Well, how much do you think we should sell this for?"
The boy looks back and appraises the corn. "I don't know. How much do you reckon?"
"Ten brass a bushel should work. How's that sound to you?"
"Good." The boy leans back and stares at the clouds as they roll past.
Soon, they turn a corner off the road. Everything shimmers, and they find themselves in a valley, surrounded by impassable mountains.
"Here it is." The father directs the horse to the right. They circle around a rock, and the village comes into sight.
Small huts compose the majority of the housing, though a few stone houses form the perimeter. The streets are narrow and dusty.
They come to a stop at the edge of the village.
"Where is everyone?" The father mumbles. He climbs down from the cart, then turns to stop his son from following. "No, wait here."
He leaves his son there and walks down the road, glancing into the houses. He finds nothing.
Finally, they leave the way they had come to find another market.
At the other edge of town, there is a small graveyard. It only has one, large stone with no inscription, and the entire graveyard has been dug into recently. Underneath that loose dirt lie over three hundred skeletons. Yesterday, they were alive. Tomorrow, they will be nothing but dust.
*****
"Well, let's see what's in the news today." Clarissa sits next to Earl on the same bench. Leaves wave around them and nearby flowers fill the air with their gentle fragrance. Earl leans back against the post set up against the bench and looks at the paper as Clarissa reads.
"'Yet another attack has been discovered. This time, the villagers were quickly buried in a ceremonious fashion by beings from a neighboring interface, but not before they, too had half-rotted. As all of these strange attacks have taken place in interfaces almost completely secluded from the Greater Nexus, peoples of these areas are advised to be careful.' Another attack?" Clarissa lays the paper down again. "That's five in just this last month. And those are only the ones that have actually been discovered. Imagine how many there must really be!"
Earl grimaces and shakes his head. Clarissa picks up the paper again and continues reading. "'On the other hand, Maximum Cop believes it has found some evidence of the being responsible for these crimes. A single thick glass vial was found in the middle of the village square. While its role in the killings is uncertain, investigators are positive that this vial was involved.'" Having reached the end of the article, Clarissa puts the paper on the bench for others to read if they wish.
"A thick glass vial? What has that got to do with any of it? I get the feeling that these reporters aren't telling us ever-" she stops cold at the look on Earl's face.
"What is it?" Concern for her patient immediately floods through her. // I shouldn't have read all that! He's not ready for it!// She pushes the guilt to the back of her mind as she turns and picks up Earl's hand. "Earl?"
Earl starts shaking, a single tear running down his cheek. Clarissa pushs the emergency button on his wrist, but it is too late, and Earl collapses on the dirty path, his muscles taut and his face white and sweaty.
*****
"Her eyes were always full of laughter. She frowned a few times, but only in jest. She always seemed to be in the middle of a party, no matter where she was. She only went to one funeral, for her mother and father. I don't know if she cried, but if she did, then I suppose that was when she decided never to cry again.
"We met at the University. She came to the Mix-party at my dorm. We danced around everywhere. I was drunk, I think, but she wasn't; she didn't need to drink to be happy.
"I don't know why, but I started looking for her at every party. She was always surrounded by people, her girl friends and boys trying to catch her eye. She smiled at them, but they knew that it would take more than that to win her.
"It was at the end of my senior year when we went on our first date. I guess she chose me as a boyfriend because I was the only one who was nice, but not on her case all the time, trying to get her to go out with me. I've had a lot of first dates, and I've heard about a lot more, but this one just hit it off. She brought out a part of me I never knew I had. For once in my life, I felt free of the cage society always tried to put around me.
"At graduation, we traded hats and rings. We couldn't marry for a while because her parents were restrictive about her age, so I found a job. We always saw each other every weekend, and sometimes on evenings when I just couldn't bear staying away from her any more. Sometimes she visited me, because she was lonely. I never knew someone that... that active and _happy_, someone always radiating energy everywhere, I never knew that she could be lonely like that.
"Then my visits got fewer. I was being pushed, in my job, harder and faster than I'd ever worked before, and they discouraged travel. But I did it anyway. I could never stand to be away from her that long. And so I finished the Project, right on time.
"I was assigned to give a presentation on the evening I was planning to meet her. I couldn't get a message out to her, but I knew she would understand; we had arranged for that just in case.
"But when I walked to the podium, I saw her in the crowd, glowing with pride, right there.
"She was there when my project was presented. She must have thought it was some great chemical that could cure some disease. I never told her what I was doing. I knew she would not like it.
"She was there when my project was tested. Right there, in that room.
"I buried her outside our city, on a hill overlooking a field of flowers. I piled some stones above her head, stones that were softened and smoothened by the waters nearby. I still see her smiling there, sitting on that hill on the rocks, watching the flowers dance by."
*****
"So, now that you're going to be released, what do you think you'll do?" Clarissa walks alongside Earl through the gardens.
Earl shrugs. "I don't know, really. I just keep thinking about what I did, and about Marylin. I think first, I'll visit her grave. Maybe she can give me some guidance." He smiles faintly. "And I want to tell her what I did, and why. I didn't when she was alive, so I guess I owe her that much."
Clarissa nods. "Any ideas about what comes next? Do you have any family or friends you want to see?"
They turn left at the split in the path. "I don't think so. I mean, I have friends and family, but after what happened, I think I'll stay away for a while. They don't know where I am, or that I'm even alive. I'd rather it stay that way."
Clarissa dips her head in acknowledgement. "That sounds good to me. Is there anything you've always wanted to do before, that you'd like to do now?"
Earl laughs. "Too many things! I've always been ambitious that way." His face becomes somber again. "But now I just don't know. I don't really feel like doing that stuff. I've done something wrong, and... I guess I want to try to fix it." He shakes his head. "But that's silly. There isn't anything I _need_ to do to fix it."
Clarissa slows her pace. "It's natural to feel that way, Earl, don't stop. And are you certain that it doesn't need to be fixed?" Her face bears a worried expression.
Earl shrugs. "Yeah. Why?"
Clarissa answers slowly, thinking through each sentence as she goes. "Earl, do you remember when I read the newspaper to you back when you first came?"
Earl nods. "Sort of."
"Well, there was one time I read about a village of people being killed, with no trace of the killer except for a bottle." Clarissa watches Earl's face carefully as he raises his eyebrows and creases his brow. "You went into spasms, and it took two weeks for you to recover."
Earl closes his eyes slowly and sinks to the ground. Clarissa kneels beside him, hugging him, giving him support. Finally, he whispers. "The liar. That damn liar."
Clarissa waits a moment before she asks, "Who? Who lied? What happened?"
Earl leans back against her, his hand to his face. "That damn liar. I can't believe I made that stuff for him! I can't believe I believed him!" He begins to hit his forehead with his palm. "How could I have been so _stupid_!?"
Clarissa grabs his hand before he can hit his head again and pulls it back. "Earl, it wasn't your fault. He lied to you. He made sure you believed him so he could do what he wanted with what you made. Your intentions were good."
Earl shakes his head. "No. I mean... yeah, I thought I was doing the right thing, but why in the world did I _do_ that?" They sit silently for a moment. Earl continues to shake his head, a couple of tears drying on his cheeks, and staring into the bushes in front of them.
After a while, Clarissa squeezes his hand. "Let's go in."
Earl nods and begins to stand. About halfway up, he stops, a hand still on the ground. "I have to stop him."
"But...."
"No, I really do. I started this, and I have to finish it. I can't let him go on doing this." Earl straightens. For the first time since she'd seen him, Clarissa can see determination and certainty written all over his face. "I invented that damn thing, and I can invent something to destroy it."
Clarissa stares into his eyes. "But... what's so bad about it? How...."
Then he told her his story.
*****
"And sign your name here, please."
Earl signs the last paper with a flourish. A feeling inside grows as if he is gaining freedom for the first time in his entire life.
The dean glances at the signature and nods. "Very well. I'm glad we were able to help you out, Mr. Henner. If you ever need anything at all, we're just a call away."
Earl smiles. "Well, I hope I won't, but I'll remember anyway. Thanks." They shake hands and Earl exits the office.
Before him are the gardens. Still occupied by patients and nurses, they seem unfamiliar now that he is no longer a patient. He turns down the paths to take one final walk through the foliage toward the main gates.
At the gates, the guard checks Earl's papers, nods, wishes him well, and lets him out. He barely takes two steps before someone says from behind him, "Are you ready then?"
Earl whirls around, almost tripping over his feet. His heart doesn't begin to slow until he realizes that it is Clarissa behind him.
"Clarissa! I... you scared me!" he pants out.
"I'm sorry!" She reaches out and looks at his paper. "It looks like they think you're ready. So, are you?"
Earl straightens, his face becoming determined. "Yes. I am." He reaches out for his papers.
Clarissa hesitates, then hands them to him. "Then I guess it's time we left." She smiles at him, picks up a bag Earl hadn't noticed before, and waits.
"Um,... we?" The meaning of that sentence slowly dawns on Earl. "Wait, you can't come! Your job, I mean...."
Clarissa shuffles her feet. "Well, I can't say I didn't like it, but I was hoping to find something better anyway. Besides, you need some money to help you, don't you? I don't have much, but I've been saving. And I want to help you."
"No." Earl's voice is deep and certain. "I can't accept that. You are _not_ coming! I won't let you. You deserve better with your life than this! You've been saving your money for better things."
"Does that matter?" Clarissa shakes her head. "Earl, I know what's at stake. I remember what you've told me. And I've never known where I've wanted to go. I just... I just _feel_ this is the right thing to do! And you're going to need some help."
"But...."
"And besides, I...." Clarissa averts her eyes for a moment. "I'm following you whether you like it or not!" She finishes with a flourish.
Earl pauses for a moment as he reads the look in her eyes. "Well... I suppose... I could use another hand to help." Finally, he smiles. "I'd love to have you along, then. And, thanks."
Clarissa grins. "Partners?"
Earl nods and takes her arm in his. "Partners."
*****
They step off the train at Border Station in Borderton. Clarissa stares at the houses about her, unused to seeing the Stratford-style buildings. She is used to the inner Angel City, and has to shake her head to reorient herself before following Earl.
Earl leads the way out of the village, avoiding people whenever he can. All the people in the area seem to be too busy to look twice at the two of them. Clarissa walks between most of the crowd and Earl so that fewer people would see him. Having anyone recognize Earl here could ruin everything.
The houses and people disappear behind them, and Clarissa stares once more, this time at the rolling hills of the area. The entire area is spotted with flowers and dark green grass. They climb several series of hills before reaching their destination.
A large oak spreads its branches out to shade the entire hill. A small piling of white stones rests at near the foot of the tree. Newly grown grass covers an area six feet long and two feet wide.
Clarissa gazes out at the landscape, once again amazed. The town lies a mile away to the West, where the sun's golden rays glint off the roofes. To the North and South are more rolling hills, but to the East is a tiny valley, almost completely hidden among the hills, full of flowers and a small spring that drains underground.
Earl kneels down by Marylin's grave. Out of courtesy, Clarissa leaves him alone for his personal moment and walks to the little valley. She sits by the tiny brook and watches the muddy water ripple over the rocks before disappearing once more into the hills.
An hour later, Clarissa is woken by a shake to her shoulder. She glances up at Earl, then accepts his hand up. "All right?" she asks.
"Yeah." He nods. His eyes are red, but his face is dry. "Let's go."
"All right. Where to first? Do you know how we'll work this?" Clarissa feels rather lost at the moment. "This might be a good time to figure things out."
Earl nods. "Agreed. It's safe enough here." He sits down and thinks for a moment. "Well, there's nothing to do except get me back into the lab. I want to see what he's up to."
Clarissa nods nervously. "How difficult is that?"
"You mean how dangerous? Very. If he sees me he'll kill me."
"Earl?" They are sitting in a private compartment in the train heading back to Angel City to review and regroup their efforts. Not to mention visiting the University Library.
"Yes?" He is spread out, his limbs ascew, on the cushioned bench across from Clarissa, his face to the ceiling, relaxing.
"Why didn't you die when he tested your potion?"
Earl turns to look at her, then sits up, a serious look on his face. "To be honost, I've been wondering about that too." He looks up into her eyes. "But I have my suspicions. And if they're true... let's just hope that it's true. Or maybe not." He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"What do you think? I mean, why could it be?"
Earl shrugs. "Well... the potion works for the person who opens the bottle, sort of like genies. It works against everyone else without a care for who or what those other people are. The only thing that was different about me is that I tested the stuff a couple of times. Maybe it doesn't work against anyone it's already worked for. The problem with that is that it's worked for _him_ now, and if it's true that it won't work against him...." He lies back again, though this time into a less random position. "We might not be able to kill him at all."
*****
The laboratory is much cleaner than Earl is used to it being. He pauses for a moment to orient himself. He listens carefully to make sure no one is inside before letting his feet fall.
He hangs by his fingers from the ceiling tiles and glances around. Nothing. He lets go and lands cat-like in his socks. He removes the shoes from around his neck and slips them on (not wanting to wander around a chemical lab with no shoes).
He confirms for one last time that there is no one here before he relaxes. The lab is soundproof and has no cameras, or at least, it didn't last time he was here.
All the chemicals have been neatened; Earl does not really know where anything is anymore. He finds the worktable ten feet from where it had started. An envelope lies on its surface.
Earl can't believe his luck. The instructions are actually here! He takes a tissue from his pocket and picks up the envelope. It is unopened. Easily taken care of. He walks to the shelf for the chemical he needs, only to find that it, too, has been moved.
Earl grunts quietly and starts down the row, looking back and forth, until he finds the chemical he needs. He takes a dropper and gets several drops from the bottle into the dropper.
He returns to the table and allows one drop to fall on the envelope.
For an instant, he can make out words. But then, a white smoke seems to appear from within the envelope, blurring it out. Earl backs away nervously. // Uh...//
The door opens.
"Well, Helmeth. Welcome back."
Arthur/Earl turns toward the door to look right into the barrel of a gun.
"I am not Helmeth." Earl swallows audibly, trying to get that lump back down his throat.
The black-haired man laughs. His voice echoes around the lab, and the various flasks rattle on their shelves. "Helmeth, you have a lot to learn." His laugh stops suddenly and only the eerie echoes remain. "Too bad you won't have the time." He waves the pistol to the side. "Get away from the table. I don't want this bullet destroying any chemicals."
Earl gets. He glances toward the opening he has left in the ceiling, but tries to make sure Talaman doesn't notice his movement. "How many people have you killed with that stuff I made you?" His voice wavers. He crosses his fingers, hoping he can keep Talaman distracted long enough.
Talaman shrugs. "Enough to add a few years. On your knees. I don't want to break the window."
Earl kneels down, narrowly managing to keep himself from falling over, his legs were shaking so hard. "A few years? But you've killed far too many people for that to make a difference."
Talaman smiles. "Well, now, then I must be using them somewhere else. Now shut up." He snaps his fingers. The sound echoes out the open door and almost immediately five or six musclular men come in. "Just in case a bullet doesn't do the trick." He smiles even wider. "But I think it will."
Earl closes his eyes and prays to spirits he has never believed in before.
Talaman pulls the trigger.
Clarissa flinches as the gun shot's report echoes through the air vents. She crawls up closer to see out, making sure not to press the "Stop" button on the tape recorder in her hand.
She sees seven men, all dark-haired. One, tall and strong, holds the smoking gun. Another is on his knees in front of him. The others, looking like football players, surround him. She can see Earl's face clearly from her position; it is white and tense.
She watches in slow motion as he lowers his head, as if to look at the red spot growing in his chest. But his head does not stop there; instead, it continues its journey down to the floor, his upper torso following, as if he is diving into hell.
Blood spills from his chest onto the ground, and she can see specks of red splattered against the far wall.
Clarissa holds her breath and crosses her fingers. The tall man, the one with the gun, steps forward and leans over Earl... he seems to check the fallen man's pulse... he steps back and nods to the others... they turn and leave... the tall man raises his gun again and shoots once more into the limp form... Clarissa holds her hands over her ears to keep from hearing it... but Earl does not move.
The man with the gun turns and leaves. He locks the door behind him.
Clarissa puts down the tape recorder and turns on her side, muffling her sobs into her cold hands.
Clarissa shakes her head and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. // Ok, time to get back to work.// She maneuvers around until she can climb down, feet first, into the lab. She lets go of the roof and lands softly on the floor.
A rope hangs from the ceiling to her waist. She unties it from her belt and leaves it there, slips on some shoes, and heads over to Earl's body.
It lies still. The pool of blood has stopped growing underneath his body. His black hair is spread out and matted with blood, making it look purple in the dim light.
Clarissa pauses at the table and looks at the envelope. The words inside are visible now; whatever trap Earl had triggered when he used that chemical has appearantly shut down.
She reads out loud so the tape recorder will pick up the words: "Finish transfer formula. Design a formula for mass usage. Determine affect on user. Due Monday midnight."
She continues on her path. Her nose drips. She wipes it with the back of her sleeve and sniffs. "Earl?" She glances apprehensively at the door to the lab. It remains shut and locked.
Clarissa kneels at Earl's side, ignoring the thick wetness soaking into her pants. "Earl." She gently turns him over so that he faces up.
His face is red with the blood that had flowed to his face when he fell over. Purplish ooze collects around his forehead where his head hit the ground. Clarissa wipes his hair out of his frozen eyes. "Earl." Her voice is barely a whisper. "Earl." She leans closer. "Earl... I never told you, but...."
Clarissa turns away as a lonely tear squeezes its way out of her eye and down her cheek.
"You never told me what?"
Clarissa shrieks and spins around. Her foot slips and she comes crashing down on the floor.
"I'm sorry, did I scare you?"
Clarissa clutches her hands to her chest. She lies curled up on the floor, her eyes wide open and her breath out of control. She slowly rolls over. "My...." She begins to cough.
Warm hands reach out and hug her to a warm body. "It's all right. It's just me. You'll be fine." Fingers gently untangle her matted hair.
"E... Earl?" She finally manages to look up into his warm blue eyes. "You...." She suddenly regains control of herself and thrusts her arms around him. "You scared me!" She half yells, half cries. "Don't you ever, ever do that again!"
He rubs her back and lets her cry out the tension. "I'm sorry. It's ok. It's going to be fine."
After another few minutes of tears and relief, a giggle escapes Clarissa's lips. He snorts. Soon, they are rolling around the floor of the chemical laboratory, laughing and crying their hearts out without a single care in the world.
"So." They have finally calmed down enough for serious conversation. "Who's Earl?"
Clarissa pulls back and wipes a tear out of her eyes. Her other arm rests against her belly. "What do you mean, who's Earl? You're Earl."
Earl cocks his head. "Are you sure? I mean... I've heard the name, yeah, but I thought it was someone else. You sure it's me?"
"Yes, of course! You've always been Earl, don't you remember?" Clarissa leans forward, concern written across her face. "Do you remember me?"
Earl nods. "Yes, you're Clarissa. You helped me in the asylum, and you've been helping me fight my former employer. But I didn't know my name was Earl." He pauses. "In fact, I remember Talaman calling me Helmeth. I don't remember being that person, either." He looks to Clarissa for help.
Clarissa takes a deep breath and thinks. "Well... maybe he knew you by a different name from your... um, first life. You were killed--sort of--twice, so maybe each time you come back, you have a different... um, identity. What do you think your name is now?"
Without hesitation, he replies, "William O'Conner."
Clarissa shakes her head. "This will never work. With what we're doing, and you know what I'm talking about, right?" He nods. "Right, with what we're doing, you might end up dying and changing names a few more times. But to me, you'll always be Earl Henner. So... your name is Earl Henner. If you want to go undercover or something you can use whatever your current name is. How's that?"
Earl nods. "Ok. But you'll have to help me remember that I'm Earl."
Clarissa smiles. "That, I can do. Now, what are _we_ supposed to do? We're in the lab...." She looks around blankly.
Earl stands and gives Clarissa a hand up. "We are going to do some research. I want to figure out what effects this stuff has, and I want to protect you, too, if I can." He makes his way over to the shelves an begins looking through the chemicals. "By the way, what was it you never told me?"
Clarissa blushes. "Nevermind." She hurries to help Earl before he asks again.
"Don't you think they're gonna come in here and find us? We've been here for _hours_!" Clarissa holds the test tube still over the flame. "Remember, what I told you was in the envelope?"
Earl hands her another vial. "Here. All of this in there. And yeah, I remember. They won't look in here for a while, and they'll send someone to clean up first. We can take care of them if we have to."
Clarissa draws in her breath as she pours. "We? I don't think I could bring myself to do hurt anyone."
"Well, if we don't take life, we'll never get it back. Except in this case, of course." He smiles down at her. "Here. Put it in the ice water for a minute, then look at it." He pushes a tub toward her.
Clarissa obeys. A small cloud of steam rises, then an unexplainable blue glow seeps into the water. She holds up the test tube and looks into the liquid.
It is as if she is transported into another world. The liquid brightens and fills her vision. She can almost see tiny wisps of light dancing inside. They almost look like whales, or dolphins in the blue glow. Something swims by and she turns to see a great void. Clarissa jerks and tries to pull back, but she is sucked closer and closer to that blackness... cold... so cold....
"Clarissa? Are you alright?"
There is a slight warmth from somewhere. Clarissa sighs in the comfort as the warmth spreads through her body. Then, she can feel his hand. No, two hands. On her forehead and back. She relaxes into them and feels them intently, not wanting to let go of this moment. Something hard supports her body, but it does not matter, only the hands matter here. They soothe and warm... the coldness drifts back in... she resists the urge to fight it... she does not want his hands to go but they are... the coldness replaces his warmth... she can no longer feel him....
Clarissa's eyes pop open as she gasps desperately for air. The real world comes flooding back. Earl has her head resting on his knees. He looks into her eyes. "Clarissa! I thought...." He shakes his head. "Are you all right?"
Already the memories are fading. "What happened?" She croaks as she struggles to sit up.
Earl helps her. "I had you make the formula. I never used it, so that's the only way it could have protected me. Are you ok?"
Clarissa takes another look at Earl. His clothes sport two holes, his shirt is drenched in blood. "I... I think so. I...." She shivers. "Yeah, sure. Why not." She shivers again. "Can we go now?"
Earl smiles gently. "Not quite. I need to get some stuff from here first. Here." He takes off his shirt and puts it around her shoulders. She cannot help but see the two scars where the bullets had pierced his skin. "Wait a few minutes, and then we can go."
Clarissa sits against the wall and leans back. Within moments, she is asleep, dreaming of something soft and warm.
The steady sound of train on track woes Clarissa into another dreamy sleep. She wakes up every half hour or so to see Earl sleeping, or at work on some equation, or staring at the glowing blue bottle in his hand.
Halfway through a dream about whisps of smoke that court each other as the other fish watch, Clarissa hears Earl's voice, "That's it!" She jerks.
"What's it? Didn't they go out on a date?" She sits up and rubs her head, then smiles apologetically at the confused look Earl gives her. "Sorry, dreaming. What's it?"
He raises his eyebrows and nods. "Ok. Um, well, I think... hold on, let me figure out how to say this...." He buries himself again in the papers scattered over the seat.
Clarissa glances out the compartment window. Every once in a while, some people cross by, but no one gives her compartment a second glance; apparently humans are very common in these parts.
"Ok, got it. Look, you know how I figured that the potion thing protected me because I made it, since I never really used it? Well, I think you'd get the same effects from using it, so I've been basing all this stuff on those assumptions. If they're wrong," he screws up his face. "Anyway, if I'm right, then I think that maybe there's a chance we can still kill him."
Clarissa leans forward with interest and takes her mind off the other passengers. "How?"
"Well," Earl begins scribbling on a paper, "remember when I... um, came back, woke up, whatever you call it last night? I was kinda disoriented for a little, confused. It's like, the potion, or just death really because it doesn't matter how you do it, separates the soul from the body. If you believe there _is_ a soul, anyway. I didn't until now. But the potion's effect from before makes your body like a magnet, and it pulls the soul back. But in order for the soul to stay, your body has to be alive, so it brings you back to life, kind of. And in order to be alive, it has to cure whatever killed you, like when he shot me."
Earl rubs his hand over his torn shirt, over his scar, absentmindedly and continues. "But then, I was confused. My soul wasn't totally back together yet; it was just close enough for me to be alive. After a few minutes, I was better. I remembered Earl's name--I mean my name--and Helmeth's name and little stuff from before. It was kinda like a flame warming up."
He leans closer to Clarissa. "But you know what? If you get killed _again_, before that flame takes hold, then you just might snuff it out altogether."
Clarissa stares wide-eyed as he shuffles through his papers. // A genius. If only he never made that thing in the first place....// "How's that?"
"I only guessed that a few hours ago, I've been spending the time since then trying to prove it right or wrong. If I did these calculations correctly, then not only do I prove that a soul must exist, I show that if someone is killed within thirty seconds of... waking or whatever, then their soul will be totally separated. 'Course, this is based on the assumption that souls do exist, so I guess I haven't really proved it; I just proved that my assumption works. But if it's true, then we have a weapon."
"And a vulnerability."
He nods. "Exactly."
*****
Clarissa accepts Earl's hand to step off the platform. For some reason, when she touches him, her heart starts beating faster. She withdraws her hand a little quickly and smiles shyly at him before turning away to hide her blush.
Either Earl does not notice or he hides it well, because he doesn't say anything and turns to look down the busy Angel City street. "Where's your apartment? We need a place to regroup." As a second thought, he turns to look at her. "If you don't mind, that is."
Clarissa shrugs and dusts off her shoulders. "I don't mind. I want to see if I have any messages anyway." She glances around the area. "But it's a long way away from here... unless... do you know what day it is?"
"Thursday I think. Why?"
"Good. On Wednesday through Saturday mornings, I think there's a portal here to the street behind mine. Come on." Clarissa leads the way down the road, dodging random people of all shapes, sizes, and colors. "Here."
They come to a stop in front of a long, tall, white fence. A few meters down, there is a sign, "PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING." Clarissa ignores it and takes Earl's hand in her left, then pushes the fence with her right.
Reality warps, the fence tumbles through their minds, and they find themselves standing two feet away from a towering Minsk in armor with a long, bloody sword.
"Whaddya want?" His voice is definitely not friendly.
"Um, nothing, sorry to disturb you." Clarissa smiles and backs away, pulling Earl with her. "Have a nice day." She turns and walks away, keeping her fingers crossed.
The Minsk watches, his gray knarly skin twitching. // I wish they'd stayed. Doesn't _anyone_ know how lonely it gets in this stupid get-up?//
Clarissa leads the long, tiring way up the five flights of stairs, apologizing all the while for the lack of elevator in this apartment building. They finally reach her room, 598. She fumbles for her key as Earl looks around, smiles at him sheepishly, and unlocks the door.
Whatever Earl had expected, it wasn't this. He expected perhaps a color coded room with plenty of stuffed animals like all the girls seem to like and decorations. He expected a dresser with a mirror covered with makeup and jewelry, though he cannot remember Clarissa ever wearing either. He expected a rug, maybe, and posters, and maybe some medical stuff.
The only things in the room, though, are a bed, and two doors, one to a bathroom and the other to a kitchen. At least there are some drawings, but they are not professional by any means; probably Clarissa trying to make her apartment less dreary.
"What do you think?" Clarissa says. She looks at his face and adds, "Well, it isn't much. I've been planning to add to it and stuff and never really got around to it since I was working two shifts at the hospital every day and so I never got to shop, but at least I saved a lot of money on that stuff and we can afford to go where we need to go...." She finally realizes she is babbling, blushes, and turns to close the door behind them.
"It's perfect!" Earl drops his bag on the wooden floor and stretches. "Got any food? I think I'll sleep a little, then... no, I'll just work now. Is it all right if I work on your floor?"
Clarissa smiles at his enthusiasm. "Sure. Let me get some newspaper, I don't want you spilling on the wood, it's not mine."
"Okay." Earl lowers himself to the floor next to his bag and starts unpacking. He lifts up his chemicals for Clarissa's newspaper, then proceeds to set everything out neatly in front of him. Then, he digs out the napkin he had written his equations on and puts it next to his workspace and shoves the empty bag away. Within moments he is deep into his work.
Clarissa watches for a few minutes, but she dares not ask what he's doing for fear of making him lose concentration. Finally, she turns away and goes into the kitchenette. Soon the sound of boiling water and the smell of bread drift into the main room.
Earl ignores it, intent on his problem. He scratches out some more equations, ponders, then writes more. His chemicals remain lined up, untouched. When Clarissa hands him some buttered bread and milk, he accepts without thought, absently nodding his thanks.
Clarissa smiles at him, at his concentration. She watches his body, his back bent as he leans over his work. His feet tucked under his knees, his hands moving back and forth from paper to chin. His eyes, sometimes closed, sometimes open, always thinking. His hair is irrestably messy.
Clarissa kneels behind Earl and combs his hair with her hands. He pats the hair down after she is done and seems to not have noticed. The bread has been eaten and the glass of milk is half full.
Clarissa sighs and leans back. // It's going to be a long night.//
*****
For the twenty-third morning in a row, Clarissa slips quietly past Earl's hunched form to the door and lifts her cloak off the rack. She leaves, closing the door as softly as possible, and wanders down the stairs. No one is ever up this early; not even the workaholics. Clarissa loves this part of the morning: when she can leave her apartment and yet be alone... at least within the building.
She steps outside into the chilly wind and looks around. Traffic is still light at this hour, even for Nexus. The mailboxes are a few meters from the door, placed for the ease of the mailman, not the residents.
Clarissa pulls out the mail--her last paycheck and an electric bill--and digs out the paper. She absently flips through the paper as she trudges up the five flights of stairs, and pauses outside her door to fumble for her key.
As always, Earl hasn't appeared to move, though a new wad of paper has appeared in the far corner of Clarissa's formerly neat floor. She rolls her eyes and steps around the papers--Earl had goten angry when she tried to throw away the "trash"--and lays the papers on the bedstand.
It takes her another few minutes to realize that what she is looking for is not there, and hasn't been in a long time. "Earl?"
"Hmm?"
Well, she got a response; that's always a good sign. "Earl, we might have a problem."
"Uh-huh?"
"I haven't seen any article about an attack since we left the hospital. And back then they appeared almost every other day."
"Uh-huh."
"Earl!"
He jerks and finally diverts his attention from his work. "What?"
"There haven't been any attacks! Why not?"
"There haven't?"
Finally! "Look, the papers haven't mentioned it at all since we left the hospital. They used to be happening almost regularly, and they've stopped!"
Earl stands and stretches with a series of pops from his back and a groan from his throat. "That's..." he yawns, "...strange. Let me see."
"Here." Clarissa hands him the paper and shows him the sections. "They were always in the front section, and now they're not even in the crimes section anymore. Just more stuff about Mr. Black's capture, and even that's dying down."
"Interesting." He scans the pages.
Clarissa rolls her eyes again. // Scientists! All they ever say is "interesting."// "Yes, it is. Can you explain it?"
Earl looks up and shrugs. "Well, let me think." He paces, flattening crumpled papers new and old. "The envelope you read at the lab, it said something about finishing a formula and preparing it for mass usage."
"What does that have to do with it though? He can't have started another project!"
"Of course he can. He's always been doing tons of things all at once; this was just one of his more... ambitious experiments. But I think he might be changing the formula I made."
"Why?"
Earl shrugs. "I don't really understand why he wanted it in the first place. Yeah, he can steal other people's lives, but not much. I mean, when someone dies, they take most of their soul with them, and only a small part of them is left for the taking. It didn't seem worth it to me, even for someone like Talaman, to use. Too expensive to make.
"He's probably trying to make a new formula that'll give him better results, or the same results more cheaply. I guess he stopped making the old formula because he's expecting the new one."
Clarissa nods. "But... what if he makes it? What'll it do? Will we be protected?"
"I don't know. I'm still not sure why we're protected from the first one. But since I survived a bullet, I guess I--we--can survive another ugly formula."
"Oh." They think to themselves for a minute. "Would this change what we're doing?"
Earl shakes his head. "I don't know." He sits back down in his old place. "But if I don't finish, I know we're not going to get it done anyway."
"Okay." Clarissa doesn't bother to ask just _what_ he's doing, but turns her attention back to her mail. Pesky electric bills.
*****
"Hey Kid!"
"Yeah?" The newspaper boy looks up.
"You got a paper for me?"
"You bet!" The boy tosses a newspaper to Max and catches the coin thrown his way. He turns and begins shouting his advertisement again as Max continues down the street.
Max ignores the boy now and promptly flips the paper open to the sports section. "What? They can't delay the Spinsters Rockers game because of a portal malfunction, it's the championship! What the heck?!"
He is so absorbed in his rant and in reading the article that he forgets that there is a curb at the edge of the street. "Terry Sentered's supposed to whoop the Rockers' asses, what's the matter wiiaaaargh!"
He throws out his arms (and the paper) to catch himself, but instead of landing hard on his nose on the street, he keeps falling. "WhaMMmmph!"
He lands with a crunch and feels something snap beneath him. It feels soft on the surface, but hard under his stomach. There's more stuff around him, and everything feels cold and wet and sticky.
Fighting for breath, Max struggles to seperate himself from the mess that is beneath him and sits up. His eyelids stick together for a moment, so he reaches up to rub them. He feels his hands leave something wet and sticky on his eyes. "What the--" His eyes finally pop open.
"Oh my God."
*****
"Are you ready?"
Clarissa straightens her shirt and shakes her hair out of her face. "I think so. What are we doing, exactly?"
"Hold on." Earl stuffs the last of the bottles and papers into his pack, then digs inside to organize the mess a little more. "I've been studying their pattern."
"Okay." Clarissa nods. They're still standing in her apartment, but soon they will be gone once again.
"They're attacking hidden places; places with few portals in or out. They don't want to upset the major Nexus."
"That's smart of them."
Earl shrugs. "Maybe. But over a month ago, they stopped. They're probably saving what's left of what I made them and are making the new formula we read about. Which means they're probably going to be able to get more lives more easily, but it's probably more restrictive, too. I mean, you can't get without giving, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, they'll probably lose something in your formula to get something in theirs."
"Exactly." Earl shifts his pack on his shoulder and opens the door. "And they're bound to start using the new formula soon; I can't imagine why they'd stop using the old for a month. The problem is," he scrunches up his face, "we don't even know if they've started! What if they're attacking some really secluded place and it's just not made the papers yet?" He shakes his head.
"Oh." Clarissa nods. "Okay, I guess we're going to try to figure out where to go? Maybe if we ask Maximum Cop...."
"Maximum Cop wouldn't tell us anything. We have to ask the publicity people, you know, the media. They'd find out."
Clarissa nods and leads the way out, then locks the door behind them. "Then let's go."
"Wait, I want to check the mail!"
Earl taps his foot impatiently and glances around as Clarissa runs down to the mailbox and back with a folded newspaper in her hand. They start off down the road toward the nearest bus station. Clarissa unfolds the newspaper and glances over the headlines.
"Oh my goodness, Earl, look at this!" She stuffs the front page under his nose.
Earl recoils a bit, then holds the paper at a distance where he can actually read it.
Early yesterday morning, Nexus Post reporter Jane Yellens had an exclusive interview with Mr. Max Mentori, who reportedly stumbled upon a mass-murder site after falling through an unstable portal.
"There were bodies everywhere, lots of blood, it was terrible!" Max said. "I fell right on top of this woman with a baby. Their insides were ripped apart and mangled with a bunch of other people's. There must have been at least a hundred people there!"
Maximum Cop has declined comment on other recent mass murders in the same area, saying only that they do not wish to reveal any action on their part to the criminals at this time.
"Let's go." Earl thrusts the paper into his bag and hurriedly leads Clarissa to the bus stop, as if it'd make the bus get there any faster.
"Where, to where they found the bodies?"
"Yeah. Does the paper say?" Earl looks up and down the tracks, waiting for the bus.*
[* The buses in this case are something like trains on tracks, except they look like buses and are called buses and sometimes go underground, but they're not subways. Yeah.]
Clarissa pulls the crumpled paper back out of his bag and scans the rest of the article. "No, just where he fell through."
"Then let's go there, where is it?" Earl shoves some change into the ticket machine and extracts two tickets.
"1500 Block of Westholm. But won't it be watched? Won't it be sealed off so no one else can stumble in or anything?" Clarissa accepts her ticket from Earl and follows him through the barrier.
He pauses, then shrugs. "We'll just have to go there and find out. And act normal, too."
Clarissa frowns, but follows Earl into the bus.
They arrive at 1500 Westholm fifteen minutes later. They find some police tape surrounding a part of the sidewalk, but when they look around no one seems to be watching. Earl leans over the tape and stares at the sidewalk. "The paper said the people were really mangled, right?"
"Yes, of course."
"No, not of course." Earl stands up again so he can speak softly, "When they killed Marilyn, and the others in the room, they weren't mangled; there weren't any signs of death on them at all, except that they were dead. Me too, for a little while. But now there are. The new formula must be more drastic." He closes his eyes to think a moment, leaning against one of the small poles holding up the police tape. "Talaman wants to get more energy out of people. The old formula only gets an hour out of every person, it's not that much considering the fact that some of these people would have years to live. And it takes a lot of hours to make much of a difference."
"Oh," Clarissa says. "But how much can he get with the new formula, do you think? It can't be all that bad."
Earl shakes his head. "Oh yes it can. But let's figure this out first. I want to see exactly what the formula does, and we may not be immune to it, either. Come on." He easily swings his legs over the barrier and begins to walk toward the center of the sidewalk where the portal was presumed to be.
"But... won't we...." Clarissa groans and glances around nervously. //He's going to get us killed.// But then she remembers about the first formula, and rephrases her thought, //He's going to get us arrested, then.//
But, there is nothing for it and Clarissa ducks under the tape to follow Earl.
Earl waits for Clarissa to catch up, then moves forward again. Then, his heel comes down on the edge of the portal and he trips, then disappears through the pavement with a gasp. Clarissa shivers, then makes a small hop over the edge.
The first think Earl notices is the stench. There is a breeze blowing, and by now it should have blown the smell away, but the source of the smell is still here. In the distance, Earl can see some people examining the bodies, carting off bodies, digging graves. Then, he feels something crash into his shoulders and he falls down once again.
"Sorry!" Clarissa untangles herself from Earl, trying to ignore the smell. "I'm sorry, hold on...." //So much for a graceful jump.// She stands up, then gives Earl a hand. "You okay? Any bones broken?"
Earl shakes his head, and Clarissa looks around her for the first time. At first, she wants to throw up, but when she bends over, she starts to cry instead. "God."
"Yeah." Earl strides up to the nearest corpse and kneels down by it. //All the skin is torn apart, the blood was thicker than normal before it dried, looks like this person was hit by a train. Except for the blood part.// He takes a notepad out of his pocket and begins to take notes.
Clarissa comes up behind him and watches, then wanders away to look at the other bodies. "Hey, Earl."
"Uh-huh."
"They're all like that. Thick blood, like you said, fissures in the skin, bad damage to the abdomen especially."
"Mmm."
She kneels beside a body--or rather, half a body. The legs seem to have ended up elsewhere. She can see through the tears in the skin into the man's chest. "Earl."
"Yeah."
"This poor man's heart isn't here."
"Mmm." Earl writes something else in his notepad before the impact of what Clarissa had said hits him. "What?" He stands up and twists to look at her, confusion across his face. "Where, let me see."
Clarissa lifts up the loose flap of skin and Earl looks into the man's chest. The man still had lungs... an esophagus... but no heart.
"Shit."
"Is that bad?"
A pause. Then, a little quieter than before, a little more thoughtful, "oh, shit."
*****
"So, what's the deal?" Clarissa asks after taking her first sip of tea.
They've returned to her apartment, changed clothes, washed off the blood, and brewed some tea. Now they are sitting on her floor, both trying to forget the more gruesome of the images they saw.
"Well..." Earl sets his cup down, then leans forward. He looks her in the eyes. "It's like this. The blood is the life of a person. At least, for most living things. If you want to extract the most life you possibly can from a person, you need to get it from their blood. So the new potion they made does just that. And it rips the people apart, but it appearently works. That's why that guy's heart was missing, I think. Maybe it got destroyed or something." He shifts. "I don't think we're protected against this one, Clarissa. Actually, I'm not really sure just what we are and aren't protected against since I got shot. But we _can't_ be immortal either, that's just the point of this whole thing..." He stops and rubs a hand through his hair in frustration. "We need help."
Clarissa nods. "Definitely. But from whom? We go to the police, they'll arrest us. And they can't do anything about it. Chemists?"
"No." He shakes his head. "I have no idea who, and everyone might have his or her own agenda. I can't really know for sure who'll really help us the way we need."
Clarissa sighs. "Then it's a waiting game again. We watch and see what happens next and look for someone we can trust."
"Sounds about right." Earl lies back and rests his head on the floor. All of a sudden, he is very very tired. He can't remember the last time he slept, and he can't seem to keep his eyes open now.
Clarissa watches as he falls asleep, then gets up and tiptoes out of the room. She comes back in a few minutes with a pillow and blanket for Earl, then she returns to her bedroom to sleep. But her sleep brings her nightmares, not rest.
He told her "wait." So she did. For forty long years she had waited.
After the first two months, once she realized he might be gone longer than she had anticipated, she got her job at the mental hospital back, to pay the bills. When the head psychiatrist had started trying to take her out on a date, she found an old washer that was just big enough to fit around her ring finger and had a ruby soldered onto it. Once she had explained it was her wedding ring, the psychiatrist made the intelligent decision to stop pursuing her.
The fact that she had never married didn't stop her from being the faithful wife she had always imagined herself to be. He said "wait," and she was going to do just that, until he returned or death came in his place.
Now in her sixties, Clarissa was thinking of retiring. Though she had saved enough money to move to a nicer place, she never changed apartments so that it would be easier for Earl to find her when he returns. If he returns. She could never stop asking herself that. And as she grew older, she realized that Earl must be growing older, too. The immortality did not buy them youth, and Clarissa suspected that she would die of old age, despite being immune to death by other means.
The apartment is clean. More furnishings have appeared and the walls have been repaired. Pictures of landscapes and one of Florence Nightengale cover the walls, making up for the lack of windows. The old washer wedding ring--silly, now that she thought of it, to make a ring from a washer, but then Earl might have liked that--is too big for her hand and she keeps it hung around her neck on a chain most of the time.
The hospital decided to retire her, and Clarissa had no idea what she will do the rest of her life, even on the generous pension. Mostly hang around the apartment, she supposed, until Earl finally arrives.
He arrived about a week after her retirement, very suddenly. She was staring at one of her pictures, heard a movement behind her, and shrieked. For a moment she could not recognize him. She had imagined him old, yes, but not this way. His face was full of multicolored wrinkles, his hair mostly gone, and his back had a definite stoop.
The first thing she recognized was that excited, eager look in his eyes. In fact, he began talking before she could recover breath enough to shriek again.
"I found it! It's finally paid off!" He grabs her around the waist and dances her swiftly around the room. Clarissa lets him dance, hugging him as tightly as possible, her feet a few inches off the floor.
He finally puts her down. "Okay, here's the simple run-down." Earl seemed totally unaware of the affect time has had on Clarissa, nor of the fact that he hasn't seen her in over forty years. "Talaman is holed up in a mansion in a reality he drained of life right after I left. He's got his laboratory with him and a bunch of workers under pretense of running a factory. He's been preying on that world we visited since I left you. A few mages managed to close all portals to the world to keep him out. He's started reopening the portals because he did something special to the potion so it'll only work well if used on that world. I don't know what he's after now, since he's got to have a really long life built up by this time, but he's still at it."
Earl takes a breath and runs a hand through Clarissa's hair. She is too happy to complain about his entry, but makes a mental note to chide him about it later.
"The problem is, we need to get to that world to stop Talaman," he continues. "And the only people with the power that'll work at his mansion is the people on that world, and they're the only people that can open a portal to either his reality or their own, so all we have to do is track down one of them and get him to help us..." he trails off as Clarissa pulls her head back far enough to look at him.
"Earl...," she begins, but everything else she has to say is drowned out in the kiss.
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